


The Happiness Of Having Her With Me Unto Death

by laiqualaurelote



Category: Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laiqualaurelote/pseuds/laiqualaurelote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great Expectations - WITH ZOMBIES!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Happiness Of Having Her With Me Unto Death

When I came to, Estella was leaning against the window that overlooked the grounds, which I now imagined to be overrun by the infected horde.  Miss Havisham lay prone between us.  Her face was a mask of hatred and pain, the hands I remembered clawing at my skin now clenched in a mockery of death before her.  She, too, must have come to be infected, and I shuddered to recall the inhuman way in which she had attacked me.  The back of her head had been utterly destroyed, and blood was staining the yellowed lace of the wedding dress.  I matched this to the gun with brass-bound stock that Estella now carried at her side.

“The guardsman’s weapon,” explained Estella, when she saw I had risen, and was looking at it.  “She had it brought up to these rooms when we heard of the plague.  We will have need of it yet; the monstrous things have the run of Satis House, excepting this room.”  She looked out once more, and drew back again, murmuring, “Wretches!”

“Poor Miss Havisham,” I whispered, staring across at the convulsions of that face.  “I am sorry, Estella, to have brought you to this; to have had to kill your own mother!”

“There was nothing of the mother I loved in that creature, if ever I loved her at all.  Death becomes her,” added Estella, “as it will not become you.”

I got up, and was astonished to see that both my hands were bloodied, and bore the marks of teeth; for, I had no knowledge of it through the sense of feeling.

“But this means – ” I cried in anguish.  “Estella!”

“Yes,” murmured Estella, moving to sit by the fireplace and resume her knitting.  “By my reckoning you have a good ten minutes of life left; when it is up, rest assured I will kill you.  I hope the idea does not pain you too much, for you must see that it is inevitable.”

“It is not my death that pains me,” said I, “only the thought that it will leave you alone and undefended, at the mercy of these creatures.”

“You mistake me,” replied Estella, with a calm smile.  “They are at my mercy, and I at no man’s.”

We were interrupted by the sound of flesh thudding against glass.  Across the room, one of the creatures had managed to scale the ivy on the old stone walls and was throwing itself with the abandon of a wild animal against the windowpanes.  I stared at it in horror.  Estella spared it a glance, then looked down at the knitting in her lap with distaste.  “I’ve dropped a stitch,” she remarked, “and I am afraid my crotchet hook is downstairs.”

“I’ll fetch it for you, if you like,” I ventured, eyeing the creature at the window with unease.

“No matter,” said Estella, rising to her feet gracefully and crossing the room.  I hastened to follow her.  “Pip, if you would oblige me with the latch?”

“Estella, surely you don’t mean to let it in?”

“Don’t be so contrary, Pip,” retorted Estella with a curl of her lip.  “On the count of three – “

I unlatched the window and raised it with difficulty, as it was well-rusted by age.  The creature forced its head in, snarling; Estella eluded it with a dancer’s slide and plunged one knitting needle into its hideous eye.  While I watched in horror, she calmly slid the rest of her knitting off the other needle, draped it pleasantly over my outstretched arm, and rammed the second needle up the creature’s chin with such force and precision that the tip saw light at the back of its head.  “There,” she went on, retrieving her needles and cleaning them fastidiously on the knitting, “you see you need not worry.”

She returned to the fireplace, where she laid the stained needles against the grate and fetched a fresh pair, upon which she proceeded to cast on stitches for a new piece.  I remained where I was, for I was suddenly filled with dread.  This dread was altogether undefined and vague; I am confident that it took no distinctness of shape, and that it was from within me.

“Estella,” I said faintly, “it is upon me.”

Estella looked up at me, and her hand went to the gun.  I had sunk to my knees now, and raised a pathetic hand against her approach.  “Stay away,” I gasped.  “I fear I may endanger you.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Estella.  “You know you would never hurt me.”

She raised the gun, and sighted along its length.  I bowed my head before its cold, black barrel.  Words fought to escape me, even as the hot dreadful infection crept round my ribcage.  “Estella,” I sought to begin.  “You are part of my existence, part of myself.  You have been in every line I have ever read…”

“I don’t care for what you say at all,” said Estella.  “Say no more.  We shall never understand each other.”

“I can think of no better way to meet my end,” I gasped, as the disease seized my lungs, “than in your presence, and at your hand.”

“I don’t like to do it,” said Estella, a little sadly.  “I make a great difference between you and all other people when I say so much.  I can do no more.”

She cocked the gun.  Words cannot express the incredible beauty with which I invested that single sound.

“O God bless you,” I whispered.

“God forgive me,” replied Estella, and pulled the trigger.


End file.
